


You'll Be Back

by paintpaw



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 17:05:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13686000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintpaw/pseuds/paintpaw
Summary: It's the beginning of a new life for both Heavy and Medic. Team Fortress is finished. A few weeks after RED team is disbanded, Misha brings Ludwig to his American home.





	You'll Be Back

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's day! Don't worry, you know how it ends.

‘ _Home is where the heart is_ ’.

 

That’s the phrase people give you. A cliche metaphor for knowing what place you love the most. Though people rarely know where this place is.

 

Sometimes home isn’t a physical place. Sometimes it’s a feeling. Sometimes it’s a person.

 

Heavy’s true home was with his family, and for that, it didn’t matter _where_ they were. Whether it was running through knee-deep snow or fortified in a cabin. He didn’t need a house for it to be true.

 

But this house was different. His American home, nestled in a northern state of the USA.

 

Misha stared up at it, a huge wooden mansion. It was an escape from the base, a home away from home, a place to come to forget about stress and responsibilities. But most importantly-

 

_It was a decoy._

 

Not even Miss Pauling herself knew _where_ exactly in the Dzhugdzhur mountains Mikhail’s family really lived. No co-ordinates, nothing. Just the address of an old shop, one days walking distance from _wherever_ the Russian’s home was.

 

And that’s just the way Heavy wanted it.

 

He switched off the engine of the van, opened the door and stepped outside. Gravel crunched under his boots.

 

“This is it.” Misha announced to his passenger.

 

Said passenger giggled as he scrambled to escape his seatbelt and get outside. He stared upwards, taking in the sheer size of the house. Its wooden pillars and reflective windows. How it peaked out from the cliff face it was built onto.

 

“Is it really?” Medic said in breathless wonder.

 

Dr. Ludwig never seemed to grasp _quite_ how much money they all earnt. He didn’t seem to realise that anyone of them could buy a mansion this size only to live in it for a week or two every six months. Given one had a _decent_ understanding of saving, that was.

 

Then again, this was the same man who would splurge millions of dollars on exotic animal organs without a second thought, only to have them explode in his face the next day.

 

“That _is_ it.” Heavy confirmed.

 

He slammed the door shut and walked around to the back of the van to collect their bags. As he unlatched the door, Heavy took a breath before throwing it open. He managed to duck out the way of a flurry of white pigeons as they escaped into the evening sky. They circled once as Medic shouted up to them.

 

“Go on! Go! Look at it!!” He cackled wildly, “It’s our new home!”

 

The birds settled, like flecks of paint decorating the building, in nooks and crannies. Heavy’s eyes settled back on Medic, whose arms were splayed wide and skywards.

 

It was still odd to see the doctor out of uniform. Clad only in a warm grey polo neck and work pants. _Actually-_ \- those pants were probably from his uniform. The _boots_ certainly were. Misha bit back a sigh. He should buy his doctor some good clothes, it hadn’t even been a week since the team disbanded.

 

Although, those work pants were the only thing between Medic’s thighs and his sharp instruments. It was probably for the best. A ruptured artery in the thigh was near _impossible_ to stop.

 

Only when Medic moved, Heavy’s thoughts shifted. Medic pushed off from the ground and charged up to the front door, leaving a splay of gravel in his wake. At the door he stamped his feet-- _right left right_ \--and looked at Heavy expectantly.

 

With that little indication, Heavy smirked, giving Medic a small shake of the head of mock disapprovement. With ease, he hauls the several suitcases and bags out of the van, slamming it shut with his hip. Outside the door, he sets down the bags. Medic’s eyes follow the Russian’s movements as he retrieves a key from his fur lined pocket.

 

The door unlocks with a _clunk_.

 

Heavy held the door open for the German, who bowed his head in thanks and stepped inside. Misha busied himself with moving the bags inside as Medic stared around the foyer.

 

The high ceilinged room pushed up to the second floor, making way for a balcony at the top of an oak set of stairs. A brass chandelier hung above the pair, one Heavy hadn’t so much as _touched_ since he bought the house.

 

Straight ahead, beneath the balcony was an archway leading to a plush, cream coloured lounge, with a fireplace directly opposing the front door. On the hearth, Medic could spy a soot covered steel kettle. Likely the oldest thing in the house. The doctor craned his neck to see overstuffed bookshelves lining almost every wall of the room.

With the luggage set down at the foot of the stairs, Heavy watched Medic pull himself out of his boots before taking another step into the house. He eyes the chandelier as Misha slipped behind him to remove his own boots and shut the door.

 

A giant set of hands closed around Medic’s waist, an equally giant Russian pressed a kiss to the back of his head.

 

“This is _wonderful_.” Medic said, freeing his hands caught between Heavy’s gut and his own back. He rested them atop Heavy’s own. “And it’s yours?”

 

Heavy smiled, Medic’s thick, wiry hair tickled his nose. “Yes.”

 

The German laughed. He spun in Heavy’s light grip to face Misha fully. A toothy grin split his face. “Well, _ours_ now, yes?”

 

There was a beat of pause between them.

 

The Russian’s pale eyes wandered from Medic’s. They trailed along the doctor’s eyebrows, examining each fibre of hair. Not one out of place. Heavy had watched him pluck them this morning, using the reflection of his bonesaw in place of a mirror.

 

He loved this man, quirks and all. Loved unlike any other.

 

“Yes.”

 

That’s why he was doing this.

 

With a soft kiss to the German’s forehead, Heavy took the doctor’s hand and led him up the stairs. He hoisted their bags along with him.

 

It was late. They’d already had their dinner in a restaurant not too far away. And Medic could explore the house for himself tomorrow. It was _his_ now anyway.

 

Allowing himself to be led, glanced around more, a curious smile plastered to his face. He counted four doors upstairs. Three closed, one glistening bathroom. What Heavy could possibly want with that many rooms was a mystery. One that Medic was already imagining-- though the most logical answer he could come up with was ‘ _space for more books_ ’.

 

For one of the doors, Heavy released Medic in order to open it. It was a bedroom-- much to Medic’s surprise, who had forgotten that people even _needed_ sleep.

 

As Heavy organised their bags, the German made a beeline for the bed. A huge, plush bed. Custom built, two Heavys could fit in it. The Russian himself heard a soft ‘ _whoosh_ ’ as Medic threw himself onto to it, spreading his limbs out like he had done outside.

 

Heavy shook his head in mock annoyance, a smirk still working its way onto his face. Medic grinned back up at him. Even as the giant flopped onto to bed beside him. A loud laugh bubbled out of the doctor as the force of the landing briefly threw him into the air, Heavy’s joining not long after.

 

A comfortable silence filled the room. For the moment, they just enjoyed each other's company.

 

Lost in thought, Heavy’s eyes trailed off towards a second bed in the room. A smaller one, with the same sheets as Heavy’s.

 

“They took Sasha, didn’t they.” Medic’s voice made him startle. The doctor flipped himself over onto his belly and stared down at the empty bed.

 

“Yes.”

 

Medic made an irritated noise. A little hum that made him screw up his lips. Himself and the Engineer had been the only two permitted to keep their weapons. Mainly due to the fact that Mann co didn’t own them. All others had been _confiscated_. Part of Heavy suspected they’d even been sold on.

 

He would of gotten angry over that, when Miss Pauling had firsted informed them. But he just couldn’t. He was going home.

 

“I’m sure she’s in a better place now.” Came Medic’s comforting words. Or more likely, what the German assumed would be comforting. Heavy smiled, if only at the effort.

 

“Oh, she had become past relic of old mercenary life. Will have no choice but to move on. But there will never be one like her.” Not even Heavy knew if he was serious or not. But still, Medic giggled.

 

“Very dramatic. Well done.” He clapped his hands awkwardly in the position he had put himself in. Only managing one or two before releasing that it was his arms that had been propping up his torso. “ _I_ think your hands are good enough weapons on their own.”

 

“Oh ho, is doktor calling Sasha _weak_?”

 

“No! I’m-” Medic interrupted himself with a laugh. Heavy grinned at him and shook his head again.  “I’m calling _you_ very strong!”

 

“Ah, that is fine then.”

 

“Do you remember the time you shot down that Soldier falling out the air with a shovel?”

 

“Yes. _Tell me._ ”

 

They chatted for hours. Reminiscing on their years with Team Fortress now that they were finally over.

 

Eventually, their chatter became more and more interrupted by yawns. At one point, one of them moved to get ready for bed and the other followed suit. Medic only stripped his top layers, leaving underwear and vest. He knelt opposite Heavy, who had changed clothes entirely.

 

Medic traced his finger along the seam of Heavy’s flannel pajamas. He paused for a moment to pluck a stray, black wiry strand of hair, then moved on. Heavy continued on his buttons.

 

The two piece set was custom made. The buttons were big enough to fit between Heavy’s oversized fingers. Pressure from pushing the button through the narrow hole was almost lost in the calluses of the giants fingers.

 

Those clever hands of Medic’s, also coarse from a hard life, reached the top of Heavy’s shirt. The doctor took a moment to carefully adjust Heavy’s collar.

 

“Doktor I have to tell you something.” He hesitated. “You will not like it.”

 

Still focused on Heavy’s pajamas, Medic hummed. “What is it?”

 

From experience, Heavy knew that Medic could appear to be listening intently, when really his mind was elsewhere entirely. Normally, Heavy didn’t mind. Medic’s train of thought would click back onto the conversation _eventually_ , and he’d take off as if he’d never left.

 

But this was important. Misha couldn’t _bring himself_ to repeat it.

 

He took the German’s hands in his own and held them in his lap. It took a moment for Medic to realise that he’d been separated from the fabric he was rubbing between his fingers. He peered into Heavy’s eyes, one eyebrow arched. Heavy spoke clearly and carefully.

 

“ _Tomorrow_ \-- Tomorrow I am catching a plane to Russia. I will go back to my family and stay with them.”

 

“Your family?” Confusion coloured Medic’s face. As if he’d forgotten Heavy even had a family. His brow briefly creased before relaxing, releasing what was happening. “Misha you--”

 

“I could not force doktor to come with me. You would not be happy. I know this.” Neither of them moved, still just as close as they were before. Heavy didn’t know what to do with his hands. “So I leave you this. This house. It is _yours_.”

 

At that, Medic pulled away. Heavy let him. But they were still connected in the middle, the doctor gripping the giant’s fingers tightly. There was a moment of silence as Medic seemed to consider this ‘ _gift_ ’, eyes trailing around the room.

 

The Russian followed suit. To him, this was the lesser of two evils. Medic was a social, flighty man. He couldn’t live in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Not the way Heavy did. “I am sorry, doktor.”

 

“You’ll be back.”

 

Heavy’s pale eyes shot back up to Medic’s, only to find them looking away. The response had been quick. But quiet.

 

“What?”

 

“I said: _You will be back._ ” Medic repeated himself. His voice was firm, confident, self assured. Heavy was at a loss. Did he not understand?

 

“No- _No_ , Doktor. I am never coming back.” A moment’s pause. “Am sorry but- my family _needs_ me.”

 

“I know. But, you’ll be back, Misha. I know you will.”

 

“How can you-- _what_ \-- Doktor, I-- ” Part of Heavy just wanted to shake Medic by the shoulders, to get this into his head. Did he not understand? But instead Heavy just sat back, shoulders slouched.

 

To his surprise, Medic chuckled. Heavy felt his hand get squeezed by one much smaller.

 

“I know you well enough, mein Schatz. I know that you will come back to me-- _eventually_ .” The chuckle carried up the doctor’s throat and turned into a snort. “Why would you leave all these books here if you _weren’t_?”

 

Heavy sighed, his shoulders slumping further. It was as good as he was going to get. And-- at least Ludwig wasn’t upset. Though the weight had been lifted, there was still a knot in the Russian’s stomach. Medic, apparently sensing this, leant forwards and stole a quick kiss from him.

 

“And what a _lovely_ house you gave me.”

 

The German stayed close, only shifting slightly so he could lean on Heavy’s shoulder, going back to fiddling with his collar.

 

Once again, Heavy let out a sigh. It was starting to feel like his soul had left his body. An exhaustion from the effort of holding himself together all day-- _all week_.

 

Carefully, as to not disturb Medic, Heavy leant down on the bed. His head rested on the pillow and his arms found themselves around the doctor. He wasn’t even fully aware of himself as he pulled blankets over the two of them and switched off the lights. Even when he whispered out into the darkness.

 

“ _I’m sorry_.”

 

* * *

 

Early the next morning, Mikhail left for the airport in a cab.

 

Ludwig stirred as the Russian got dressed, watching him with unfocused eyes from the bed.

 

They ate breakfast together. Pancakes, that the two of them made together. Misha caught eggshell in his teeth as he chewed. He didn’t mind. Ludwig didn’t notice.

 

Before he left, the Russian pushed a piece of paper into the doctor’s hands. It was an address. Not his-- but _closeby_.

 

He promised to write. But not often.

 

It started with a handshake, in the porch. The Heavy Weapons Guy thanked the Medic for all he had done. The Medic snorted a laugh and called him a poetic old man. But they both smiled and held each other tightly for a long time.

 

Then Misha got into the car and drove away and Ludwig was alone. Really alone.

 

_But not for long._

 

Six months later, he was back.


End file.
